


Bursting

by Wrathofscribbles



Series: Shipping words [9]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 09:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19423063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: There is something absolutely terrifying about having Vincent suddenly at his neck without so much as a please or thank you, or even "hello".





	Bursting

**Author's Note:**

> **Big bold reminder that FFVII and all of its content and spinoffs are property of Square Enix.** I merely play in the sandbox they've created.
> 
> Note that this is only rated M for choice dialogue at the end, unsuitable for younger readers.

There is something absolutely terrifying about having Vincent suddenly at his neck without so much as a please or thank you, or even "hello". Now, Reeve prides himself as being _reasonable_ , on being a man of the mind and not some weak-willed ninny fleeing at the first sign of trouble but - but hearing that _hum_ as Vincent's nose skims his pulse point is enough to send his soul quaking down to his boots.

And maybe it's not _too_ unreasonable. His friend and not-quite-there-yet lover _does_ play walking mansion to three demons and a WEAPON, after all. Totally understandable, if a bit bad for his blood pressure.

"Good afternoon to you, too, Vincent," he says, quietly proud of how steady his voice is.

"Reeve," Vincent says, and that's _all_ he says, just his name, and the _longing,_ well... a logical man he may be, but a robot he certainly isn't.

This is the tightrope they walk. The steps they linger on, base desire held at bay until Vincent is certain it's _his_ and not the want of teeth in flesh for the taste of blood and death. The careful press of hands on skin a test of control - can Vincent keep the body as his own? It's _not_ quite all his in that moment, Reeve knows, and perhaps that's why his heart batters like a jackrabbit against his ribcage. The breath huffing against his neck... _samples_ him, his scent, one of the demons just beneath the surface and -

And Vincent hums again before taking a step back, eyes a touch too bright to put Reeve's mind at ease. "It's you."

"Of course I'm me. Who else would I be?"

"An empty shell with a mechanised feline bursting out of it," Vincent replies sourly and Reeve laughs before he can clap his hands over his mouth and smother it. A flash of annoyance, a single blink and that red gaze flickers amber and gold, and Vincent's voice, when he next speaks, has gone curiously dual-toned and _deeper_ , as if the vocal cords in use are not just his own. One of the demons, finally at the forefront, come to claim his soul at last -

"If we wanted to fuck an inanimate object, engineer, we'd suggest the purchase of a fleshlight, not a robot."

\- or... perhaps his body instead. _We_. Oh. Oh dear.


End file.
